‘Been there, done that,’ Henry said.
‘Got the T-shirt,’ they said in unison.
‘Been out all night, just driving and ignoring the phone, trying to get my head around it all.’
‘We’ve been worried about you.’
‘Sorry. . I’ve completely screwed up, Henry.’
He looked at his achingly gorgeous sister, who so far had failed to find any real happiness and stability in her life. She had even fled from London back to the north because she’d had an affair with the son of a London gangster whose psychotic ex had put a contract out on her.
That’s when she’d run into the arms of Rik, a commitment-phobe if ever there was one. But somehow it had worked. Like two suns colliding and meshing together.
‘Maybe it’s just cold feet,’ Henry suggested. He cupped her face with the palm of his hand and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Jitters happen.’
‘Will they happen to you this time?’
‘No, no they won’t,’ he said confidently. ‘I’ve found someone very special and I won’t do anything to jeopardize it.’
Lisa inhaled another faltering breath. ‘Do you think I’ve messed up completely?’ She sounded vulnerable.
Henry shook his head, remembering how Rik had said ‘No’ not so long ago. ‘I think there’s a guy out there who loves you like crazy, but he’s been hurt badly. That said, he’d have you back in a heartbeat.’
‘You really think so?’
‘For sure.’
‘Oh God.’ She buried her face into his chest and sobbed, really let it out. Henry patted her lovingly and realized that he was an amazing couples counsellor after all. Perhaps it was something he could train for after retirement. Or maybe not. . the idea of working behind the bar at the Tawny Owl was much more appealing.
‘So call him before he hits the sack. He’s been out working all night, too. Go and screw his brains out, if that’s what it takes, tell him you love him and you’re sorry and he’ll forgive you. He’s shallow like that.’
‘He’s still up?’
‘You might just catch him.’
She detached herself from Henry and twisted out of the kitchen door onto the decking out back, taking out her phone. Henry watched her pace back and forth, hand held to her forehead, talking quickly as a connection was made, then gesticulating as she stalked and talked.
Alison materialized by his side, slid her arm though his. ‘Sorted?’
‘I think I’m hallucinating. Never before have I witnessed Lisa calling and pleading with a man. It’s always the other way round.’
Lisa punched the air and turned victoriously to Henry, the smile on her face, the relief, instantly wiping away those extra years Henry had seen.
‘Just another night on the Henry Christie lurv train,’ he said sassily. ‘But if I don’t get some sleep, I’ll collapse.’
Alison tugged his arm. ‘Let me tuck you in.’
‘Is that a euphemism for something dirty?’ he asked hopefully.
‘Yes — me tucking you in.’
He didn’t even make it to the foot of the stairs.
In a moment of madness on one of his far too frequent visits to a well-known coffee chain, Henry had foolishly invested in a travel flask with their world famous logo on it. Coffee on the go. Of course he had never used it since and it had found its way to the back of a kitchen cupboard. Now, for the first time in its pristine life, it came in handy as he bade farewell to his house full of ladies. .
He and Alison had been about to say goodnight to everyone, Henry looking forward to being tucked in. He had been about to put his foot on the first step when the house phone rang. He had left his mobile phone upstairs after his shower and these days it was pretty rare for calls to be received on the house phone — usually it was telesales companies cold calling — so he instinctively knew it was work. The landline was always the second means of contact.
He had scooped up the cordless handset and introduced himself, but not in his wildest dreams could he have guessed the content of the call. He’d thought maybe the Nissan had been found, or Terry Cromer had walked into a nick with his hands held high. . something along those lines.
It was the on-duty FIM, a guy he knew well, hence the informality of his ‘Sorry to bother you, Henry. .’
He was dressed and ready to go within five minutes, during which time Alison made him coffee, found the unused flask and filled it. They managed a peck on the cheek as Henry rushed to his car, grim faced.
Her ‘Take care, love’ was all but lost on him as he jumped into the Audi, reversed off the drive with a tyre squeal. The words ‘Shit, shit, shit’ spouted repeatedly from his lips. He didn’t even glance back at Alison as he slammed the car into gear and sped away.
There was no short cut to this destination.
Within a minute he was tearing eastwards — towards the reluctantly approaching dawn — along the M55, touching one hundred, sipping his coffee and keeping an ear to his PR, tuned into the appropriate channel. He didn’t expect to hear too much over the air about this particular incident, but they knew he was on his way and he’d given instructions that he be kept up to date with any developments.
At the end of the M55 he bore south onto the M6, then exited at junction 31, which spanned the River Ribble, the well-known landmark of the Tickled Trout hotel across to his right on the southern bank. Here, many years before, he’d risked his own life whilst trying to rescue school kids from a submerged bus that had been blown off the bridge into the river. It was an incident that still haunted him occasionally, especially during the dark times. Mostly it was boxed away, compartmentalized.
He took the A59 towards Blackburn, then bore left, still on that road, towards Clitheroe, speeding down the long, straight stretch of road past BAE Systems at Salmesbury. He was aware of the flash of the English Electric Lightning fighter jet positioned on display at the factory gates. The best fighter plane ever, it was often claimed, never to have seen active service. It still looked the business.
The speedo touched a hundred again on that stretch, before he braked for the next roundabout, then accelerated away again, without being daft enough to chance the Gatso speed camera in the forty zone.
At the junction with Ribchester Road, he jumped the red light and turned left towards the old Roman fort. He continued to push his excellent car down the now winding country roads, which he knew well from years gone by. The area held happy teenage memories for him and as he passed the large detached country house that, way back, had been the Lodestar Club and Disco, he gave a quick salute to its memory. He had been in the tiny audience for the first ever English gig of Bob Geldof’s Boomtown Rats and had also seen the Sex Pistols there. He had had the privilege of being gozzed on by Johnny Rotten. A night to treasure. He hadn’t washed for three days after.
The road descended sharply and he slowed right down to negotiate the narrow bridge spanning the River Ribble. Further on he made a tight right into Gallows Lane — highly appropriate, he thought — and as the road rose and dawn came more quickly, he could see the verdigris-coated copper turrets of Stoneyhurst College. He sped through the village of Hurst Green, along more tightly winding roads, until he reached his destination of Lower Hodder Bridge and the three police cars pulled into the side of the road in a lay-by just prior to the bridge. Henry drew in behind the last car and got out after one more mouthful of his still hot coffee. The travel mug had been a good buy after all, he thought.
A uniformed constable scurried up to him. ‘Mr Christie?’
‘That’s me. What’s happening?’
‘There.’ The PC pointed. ‘He wants to talk to you.’
Parallel to and about fifty metres south of the road bridge was another bridge spanning the River Hodder. This triple-arched structure dated back to Roman times and had once been part of the road connecting Ribchester to Clitheroe and beyond, into the wild and dangerous tribal lands. Now it had crumbled; although still a wonderful piece of engineering and construction, it was nothing more than a passing tourist attraction. It was wide enough to walk over, but there was no access for the general public, with high metal gates at each end, though anyone determined enough could easily get onto it.